I can’t seem to write,
but I sure don’t want to watch the big town-hall.
I’m good for nothing tonight.
I’m tired and my mind is a fright,
better equipped for a pratfall
than to write
any words at all. I’ll put on seamless tights
and stand on my shoulders with my feet up the wall,
doing my Iyengar yoga tonight.
My consciousness alights
on any howling baby at this witch’s ball.
How its shrill bawling spurs me to write! -
always the everloving asymptote,
hearing but never receiving the call,
approaching zero and/or infinity tonight.
I won’t give up the fight,
but I’ll hear better if I have no ears at all.
I can’t seem to write,
but I'll be all smiles tonight.
